The Sweetheart Mystery

by Cheryl Ann Smith

  “No. Bad goat.” Harriet wobbled and her eyes rolled back. “You go down again and I’m dropping you off at a goat chops processing factory!”

  Noah leaned back on his heels. “Goat chops?”

  “It was the first thing I could think of,” Harper explained with a shrug. To her surprise, Harriet stayed upright and let go of the tie. “See, she just needs a firm hand.”

  Harriet trotted over to sniff the hostas.

  “Again,” Noah said. “How did she get here?”

  “She must have followed our scent across hill and dale,” she said, shrugging. “She seems to have formed a disturbing attachment to me.”

  He looked skeptical. “Goats aren’t dogs. Do you really think she tracked you over fifteen miles from the farm?”

  The goat munched a hosta leaf. “How do I know? Do I look like a Future Farmers of America member?”

  He scanned his inquisitive eyes down her. His expression heated. “Do you have anything on under there?”

  She pulled the edges of the robe together in a vise-like grip. “That’s none of your business, Slade.”

  “I could investigate the issue for myself,” he offered. “If you’d let me chew on the bow.”

  “Try, and get your man parts rearranged by my knee.”

  His wicked laugh struck her hard. It sent warm fuzzies through her body.

  Deep down, she kind of wanted him to give her a thorough examination with his hands, and other parts. Yet, she’d already gone down that road with him once before and knew their past was better left in her memories.

  There was that saying, “An ex is an ex for a reason.” Whoever came up with that tidbit was probably not fighting an overwhelming attraction to his/her ex.

  Good sense snapped back. “I’ll get dressed. We need to take Harriet back to the farm.”

  Chapter 21

  Getting Harriet into the little car proved challenging. She wasn’t a large goat, but she was stubborn. She fainted twice as Noah pulled her along with a rope tied loosely around her neck, and supplemented her protest with hoof dragging and piteous goat wailing.

  The neighbor across the street come out of her house in her bathrobe, clucked her tongue, and went back inside.

  “Hurry before someone calls the cops,” Harper urged. Noah glared at her while rolling Harriet over and trying to get her back on her feet. A child throwing a tantrum in a grocery store had nothing on that darn goat.

  “If you think you can do a better job—”

  Harper went silent.

  When he lifted the goat to stuff her into the back seat, she jumped between the bucket seats and onto the front seat, planting her hooves on the steering wheel with her stubby tail wagging back and forth like a dog.

  “Get in the back,” Harper snapped. Harriet toppled over, wedging her body into the space on the passenger seat floor. “Oh, come on.”

  The goat had serious issues. She should have her own reality show.

  “I’m starting to think this goat has devious motives.” Noah grumped and puzzled over how to fix this latest attempt by the goat to get her way. “I wonder if Estelle sent her along to sabotage our case.”

  If she hadn’t worked up a sweat earlier while helping rope the goat with Noah, and smelled like a barnyard for her effort, Harper might have appreciated his humor. Instead, she gave him a “don’t mess with me” look and reached for a hoof.

  “If anything, Harriet needs a veterinary mental health professional to look into her stalking issues.” She tugged. The goat didn’t budge. “I’ve given her no indication that I want to be friends.”

  Noah laughed. “I know that was a joke.”

  She tried to keep a serious face when she realized how silly her comment sounded. They were talking about a farm animal after all. Goats did not stalk people. Right?

  Aggravated, she released the hoof and shook her head. “Why me? Why can’t the goat love you instead?”

  He stared at the beast. “I think the more you fight her, the more she likes you. Perhaps you should give in and let her stay. I can get her a doggie bed for your bedroom.”

  “Not a chance!” She lowered her voice. “Get in the car, Slade. We’re taking her back!”

  With each mile they covered, Harper became more convinced that something untoward had gotten the goat to her house. There was no other explanation of her appearance in the backyard.

  “I think you might be right after all,” she said to Noah in the backseat. “Harriet is not the dog that travels thousands of miles to reunite with the family that had dumped her off with new owners and fled. She’s a goat. Goats eat stuff and make baby goats. They do not follow scent trails over many miles to find someone they barely know, just to chew on her bathrobe.”

  Harriet had managed to un-wedge herself at mile five and now had her head out the window. She watched the world rush by.

  She’d be kind of cute if she wasn’t so irritating.

  “I can’t fault her,” Noah said from the back seat. “I wanted to chew on your bathrobe, too. Or rather what’s under the checked flannel. But you said no.”

  Distracted by the image, she bounced over a giant pothole and the car shook. Harriet fell back on the seat, feet jerking around, unable to find footing. Harper quickly righted the car before they ended up in oncoming traffic and narrowly missed a second pothole that she was sure was big enough to eat a Smart Car.

  “Don’t say stuff like that,” she scolded and gripped the wheel. “Not while I’m driving. Not ever!”

  Chuckles followed.

  With some maneuvering, Harriet reclaimed her spot at the window and bleated at cows munching grass in a passing field. At least one of the car occupants was happy.

  “We can’t ignore what’s between us,” Noah said lightly. “No matter how much you want to wish the attraction away.”

  Her knuckles turned white. “This is not the time for this discussion. I’m driving.”

  “For you there will never be the right time.”

  The man had a point. She didn’t want to discuss anything personal. Ever. “Look, Noah. Our breakup led me down a path to crappy relationships and poor choices. I don’t want to come back around to you and make another mistake.”

  She turned into the Covingtons driveway. “I just want to find the murderer and clear myself. Maybe even get my job back. Can’t we just do that and forget there was ever an ‘us’?”

  Silence came from the back seat. She refused to look at him as she parked and pocketed the keys.

  When he did speak, it was a quiet, “For now.”

  Those two words were terribly unsettling.

  * * * *

  “I had a feeling you stole my goat,” Estelle said after they spent five minutes getting Harriet out of the car. The goat apparently knew the score and fought the removal. She wanted to hang out with Harper. “I should call the Sheriff. At least then you’d spend some time in jail, where you belong.”

  Here we go again, Harper thought.

  “Why in the hell would I want your goat?” Harper said, her tone sharp. “I have no idea how she got to my apartment. And I certainly never wanted to return here. One visit was more than enough for a lifetime.”

  She dragged Harriet by the rope to the porch and tied her to the railing. “You should probably keep her tied, or penned up. I don’t want her back.”

  Estelle glared. “Why are you still loose anyway? Willard texted and said the evidence is overwhelming.”

  “Willard has no idea what he’s talking about.” She tugged Harriet’s teeth loose from her shoelaces. She forced confidence into her tone that she didn’t feel. “It’s only a matter of time before I’m free.”

  “So you say.”

  “It’s the truth.” Arguing with the woman was like arguing with a rock, and she already felt petulant after the conversation with
Noah. “You can tell Willard that he can’t bully me and I’m not going to jail without a fight.” She glanced at Noah. “He may have money, but I have my own secret weapon.”

  With that, she walked stiffly back to the car.

  * * * *

  Noah felt like a shit as he nodded to Estelle and followed Harper. He’d seen the desperation in her eyes when she’d looked at him and fully and finally understood why she was so adamant that they keep their relationship professional. She was looking at him as a barrier against a powerful family, bent on sending her to prison. They didn’t care if she was innocent. They wanted a scapegoat and she was perfect.

  Damnit.

  Distractions of any kind could be her downfall.

  He climbed into the goat hair-covered passenger seat and faced her. She wouldn’t look at him. He saw her blink back tears. Strong Harper hung by a thread.

  “I’m sorry, HJ,” he said and resisted touching her. “No more feeding off our history. I’m here to help you out of this mess and nothing else. You have my word.”

  She swiped a knuckle under each eye, took a deep breath, and turned to face him. The hint of a wavering smile broke from her lips and the desperation was gone.

  She touched his hand. “Thank you, Noah.”

  In that moment Noah realized he loved her all over again.

  Chapter 22

  Harper spent the return trip filling him in on the visit to Lansing with his full focus on her mouth. When she clicked on the tape, he listened to part of the conversation before his mind drifted away from the investigation.

  Although he wasn’t the sentimental type, and his recently realized feelings for her would likely go nowhere—even after the case concluded—she did have a mouth for doing all sorts of wicked things to him. He just couldn’t shake the attraction.

  Then there was the promise not to get physical. He intended to keep that even if it killed him.

  During the years of his misspent youth, before he’d noticed Harper had grown up from the awkward tangle of wild hair and clumsiness in elementary school, he’d kissed a lot of girls. He’d also done more with several of them.

  In fact, no one was more surprised than he that he’d notice Harper at all. She’d always hovered quietly in the background of his life, a face in his yearbooks.

  Well, except the shoe thing. That was their one previous conversation. Remembering Harper calling him Butt Face for the first time, never failed to make him smile.

  Then one day, there she was, a teenager, kind of awkward and certainly not flashy. Still in possession of all that hair but without the silver braces, he’d discovered that she’d had a mouth he couldn’t take his eyes off.

  There was the bikini thing, too.

  She’d wanted nothing to do with him and all his teen boy hormones. He should have taken her rejection and moved on. By the time he wore her down with his charm—as it was—he’d fallen full-on in love with her and wondered when in the hell that had happened.

  Now she was back and he’d still give his left nut to see her happy. Hell, both nuts.

  “Noah?”

  Her voice snapped him around. He smiled sheepishly. “Can you replay that last part?”

  “Were you listening at all?”

  “Mostly. Up until the disturbing part about the wife running over Gerald with the car.” That had shades of Harper. She’d also threatened to back over him, though hers was all in fun. Or so he’d thought. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

  Impatient, she dropped the phone into his lap. “If my case is so unimportant that you can’t pay attention, at least you should share what you were thinking about.”

  He scratched his chin and confessed. “Braces. I was thinking about your braces.”

  “My—?” At least she didn’t look angry. Puzzled, maybe. “Would you like to tell me why?”

  Telling her about his obsession with her mouth had to stay private. A partial truth she could handle. “This isn’t really about the braces per se. I’ve just noticed how much you’ve changed over the last eleven years. You’ve become confident, though I suspect you don’t see it. I like the new Harper.”

  A smile tugged her mouth. “Well, thanks.”

  “I mean it.” Before he got mushy, he returned to the case. He went back and listened to the full tape. “Now tell me what your plan is.”

  “I said that I’d like to interview Betty Anne ASAP, don’t you think? If she’s the killer, she has money, and she could make a run over the border. We need to lock her down before she realizes she’s a suspect.”

  “Do you think she’ll agree to talk?”

  Harper changed lanes. He wished she’d let him drive his truck. Riding around in this wreck was humiliating.

  “I’m not sure. If she’s guilty, she’ll want me to take the fall. She’ll probably avoid doing anything that would cause her to slip up and implicate herself. If she’s innocent, and Willard has her convinced I’m guilty, then she won’t want to be anywhere near me. She’ll think I’m dangerous.”

  “That isn’t helpful.” He let her comments sink in. “Why don’t we go by her house? You’d be surprised by how talkative people can be when they think they’re duping the authorities.”

  Harper changed lanes and headed for the expressway. “If she sees me, she won’t be happy.”

  “I’ve considered that,” he said. “We could leave you in the car. On the other hand, I’d like to gauge her reaction to you. If she’s angry, she may say or do something unexpected.”

  Harper glanced over. “Like punch me in the face?”

  He shrugged. “Promise to duck if you see a fist coming.”

  For the second time that day, Harper was headed to Lansing in a car held together by duct tape and a prayer.

  The Covington mansion was just outside of the city where there were more golf courses than houses. The black gate stood open and Harper took that as an invitation to enter. She boldly drove up the circular drive in front of the sprawling stone mansion and parked.

  A gardener frowned as the engine coughed to a stop.

  “Even he has vehicle standards,” Noah groused.

  “Snobs.”

  Knowing that Betty Anne could react negatively to Harper, she let him take the lead to the house. The entry had columns that went up to the third floor. Giant gold urns stuffed with flowers flanked both sides of the oversized oak door.

  “I like my mansions understated,” he snarked and glanced over his shoulder. “You know what they say about a man with oversized urns? He’s compensating for a small—”

  “Behave yourself,” she hissed but her eyes danced.

  Despite the stress of her case, she hadn’t lost her sense of humor. Even when she thought he was out of line.

  He rang the bell. A large Amazonian woman in a purple pant suit answered with a put-upon expression. She and Noah were almost eye-to-eye. She scanned his face, lifted a brow that he humorously took for appreciation of his chiseled good looks and manly musculature, and softened slightly.

  “What can I do for you, sir?” Her heavy accent spoke of a Slavic background and her pale green eyes held his. The hint of a smile tugged her mouth.

  “My name is Noah Slade. I’m an investigator. And you are?”

  “I am Berit Hansen. Mrs. Covington’s assistant.” She glanced at Harper who’d hung back a step. “Who are you?”

  “I’m HJ Evans. His assistant.”

  Noah nodded. Harper was quick on her feet. “I’d like to ask Mrs. Covington about her husband’s death. Is she home?”

  The answer was drowned out by an ear-splitting shriek from inside the house. Both Noah and Harper flinched. Then the voice screamed, “Killer!

  Betty Anne ran toward the door with her flip flops slapping the marble floor, her drab gray muumuu tangling around her legs, and her hand outstretched toward Harper. “Yo
u killed my husband! Call the dogs!”

  “Hans!” Berit yelled as she quickly went from flirtatious to attack mode. “Franz! Come!

  Dogs? Noah backed up as toenails clicked across polished marble. Two huge dogs of undetermined breed appeared out of an open door. Alert, the dogs paused for instructions.

  “Kill!” Berit commanded. So much for her appreciation of his unshaven jawline. Betty Anne ordered and she followed directions without question.

  The dogs charged. “Run!” he shouted. Noah spun and shoved Harper across the porch and down the stairs. They raced for the car. The dogs half ran half rolled down the steps and hit the ground sprinting, their claws biting into gravel.

  Harper jumped into the driver’s side a second before Noah, and got the door closed as one of the dogs hit his skull on metal. The beast fell back on his rump, shook his head, and jumped up against the window, clawing at the glass.

  The other leaped onto the hood. Both dogs barked and slobbered. Noah breathed heavily beside her. “That was close.”

  “I don’t think Betty Anne wants an interview,” she said and covered her heart with both hands.

  “You think?”

  The dog on her side pulled at the door handle with massive canines while the other one got a claw under the edge of the duct tape and pulled it up. Having found a new toy, he began the process of dismantling her tape job on the hood and grill.

  “We need to get out of here,” Noah said. He dug into his pocket. No keys. “Did I give you the keys?”

  “No.” They both looked out the windshield and followed the path from porch to car. The keychain was visible about fifteen feet out. Betty Anne and Berit stood, arms crossed, smug and smiling.

  “Shit,” he said.

  “What can we do? They didn’t give me a second set.”

  Thoroughly pissed off, Noah weighed their options. “I’ll have to make a run for the keys.”

  “Nuh-uh.” Harper shook her head. “Think about what happened to the people who messed with Cujo.”